Flip Side
by ScreamingInSilence
Summary: It was funny, how the whole world believed England had cried when his 'precious' colony won freedom. Really, it was the colony who had hurt the most. The British Empire thought it was grand fun. Empire centric with minor America n angst. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnin's:** Slightly Crazy**!**Empire, some self-mutilations in the second half, minor US scenes, mostly in the second half.  
**AN: **The summary annoys me almost as much as the story - neither of them came out how I wanted. I threw a few personal head canons into this, so if anythin' doesn't make sense let me know. Mind you, I'm still workin' out the kinks in most of my head canons.

There was somethin' I needed to explain for this, but for the life of me, I can't remember what.

**Edit:** Ongoin' tweakin' of things here and there in both chapters, and deleted that ridiculous A/N. What was I even thinkin' when I wrote that...?

* * *

It looked like blood, really, the sunrise streaking through the clouds as it chased – or perhaps, was chased by – a lone bird trekking through the sky. Beneath the emerging colours, the very land seemed to spring to life: creatures of the night retreating to their safe havens, creatures of the day deeming it safe to emerge. It was a sight seen by many across the globe, far too common in its uniqueness.

It was a sight, the British Empire knew, that would stay in his memory for ages to come.

The young Empire had seen many sunrises during his short existence, to the point where he now claimed them forgettable. Really, he'd be hard-pressed to say when the brightening hues of the morning sky had gone from enthralling to monotonous. Now he only bothered to note them as reference points for memory's sake.

The bloody tones overhead would be an eternal reminder of the day he set sail for the last time from the shores of this New World Colony as its ruling Empire. Though, to be fair, he hadn't expected his host nation to react so violently in battle's final moments and rob them both of victory. Still, his host nation had been a pirate not long ago; thieving was practically in his blood.

Ah, the Empire mused, wasn't it amusingly ironic that this new nation, being brought up by a seafarer, would be blessed with a cursed sky on its first day of official existence. It made him want to laugh.

"Lord Kirkland."

Tilting his head lightly to his left to indicate his attention, the Empire's gaze remained locked on the distant horizon and the landscape filling the space between him and it. He knew it would be many years before the day he once more laid eyes on the land of the New World. Who was to say how it would appear then. Who was to say that the country asserting itself would even survive to witness his return. To his side, the messenger spoke.

"Sir, the ship is provisioned and ready to depart; we wait only for your personage. The colonists are... anxious to see us off."

Anxious. The young Empire scoffed, derision ringing clear in his voice.

"They express it quite clearly with each musket and pitch fork they continue to attempt to acquaint with our bodies."

At last tearing his gaze from the sky, now bleeding blue through the clouds of red, he raised his head to take in the form of the soldier on horseback to his left. Not naively young enough for this to have been his first war, so spoke the rank emblems on his uniform, nor so harden for him to be a veteran hand at it. The Empire wondered with slight curiosity how many more wars this young man would survive to see the end of.

"Inform the captain I shall board momentarily."

"Sir."

Watching the soldier wheel his horse around and head back to the ships, the British Empire thought it was also amusingly ironic that everyone on New World soil seemed to walk away from him.

With a final glance to the westward horizon, he turned his back to the wilds of the New World and took up a brisk stride through the ever-expanding city of New York, stopping for nothing until he reached the docks. Nor did he need to; for though many of the gathered citizens of the Thirteen Colonies jeered and point weapons at him, they all moved hastily from his path.

Head held high and carrying himself with a confidence that made those around him silently uneasy, the Empire ignored everything that was not his ships anchored in the harbour with his people on board. He had so blinkered himself that he was halfway up the gang plank of the only ship still tethered to the docks before his senses picked up on the new nation standing, unexpectedly silent, at the bottom of the gang plank.

Pausing mid-stride, the Empire pivoted to face the not-much-younger personification, locking eyes with him in a staring match. He was pleasantly surprised with how long the other lasted before turning away with a dismissive noise, uneasiness hovering about him like a personal cloud.

"Tch. You're ideals are outdated, old man. Hurry up and follow them back to your bloody fields in Europe."

Laughter bubbled in his throat, and the Empire swallowed it back down as his gazed drifted to the uncontrolled land that had belonged to him only weeks before, one hand reaching out unconsciously as though to touch it. Though it was faint, he could still make the outline of a lone bird drifting through the endless western sky; to this bird he directed his raised hand to point. In his peripheral, he noted the poorly masked confusion painted across the others face.

"My gift to you - these wings. Use them at your discretion. Others may break them, burn them, rip them to shreds. Only you may tear them off."

Hand falling to his side, a blank look slid over his face; even the Empire was not sure to whom his next words were directed.

"Even the birds must rest from their flight, or plummet to their end."

Blinking, the Empire's strange mood vanished, and without another word he about-faced and made his way up the gang-plank, not caring how the other had reacted to his words. The moment his boots were on deck and the gang-plank raised, the call went out to weigh anchor. The last of the British fleet in the Americas was returning to England.

As they left the harbour, the Empire never once turned to look back at what he had lost.

It wasn't until days into the journey across the temporarily placid Atlantic that the young Empire's calm facade began to crack open; a slow, manic grin started to form on his lips. That final, blood-tinted morn was painted clearer than any crystal in his memory, and temptation was running through him to laugh at whatever the Fates had plotted out in his former colony's path. Glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the land they had departed from, a devilish grin stretched across his face.

"Well now, lad. Impress me; how long can you last."


	2. Chapter 2

"Don't fire."

The young colony turned to face the men who had come to stand behind him, one hand signalling that they lower their weapons. He couldn't fault them for hesitating to do so; though the group of Continental stragglers had won the skirmish, the sole surviving Redcoat had been responsible for many of the dead, showing not a mark on his person in return save for the dirt and blood of the fallen. The enemy before them may have been one man, but under such circumstances many would consider him a monster.

For the moment, however, he was just another broken soldier.

Quietly, the boy took a moment to observe the impromptu battlefield, where those of his men who still stood were hastily digging graves for the corpses from both side. He tried to find his pride in seeing his men the only ones still standing, few as they were, knowing those few were lucky to still retain their lives. All he could find within himself was anguish. Anguish so deep, he was sure it would be with him for his entire existence.

He'd never wanted this war. A cruel breaking of his pseudo-reality to which blame belonged, he knew, to both his own people and those of his colonizers. This was why they had been fighting, for or against; to gain something he still wasn't certain he wanted. His independence as a nation.

His feelings written plainly across his face, he turned back to the fallen nation. He opened his mouth as words bubbled inside him but, try as he might, none were the words he wanted to say. At last he closed his eyes and tilted his head skywards, a sigh escaping his mouth.

"You used to be... so great once."

Blinking his eyes open, he chanced a glance downwards at the older nation; the emptiness in the others green eyes forced him to turn away, teeth clenched behind closed lips. As soldiers worked quickly to bury bodies of the fallen, he stood silently, right flank exposed to the other; still unable to find the courage to bury the dead, still unwilling to face what independence entailed.

He waited, as the last of the mass graves were filled and buried, small, crude markers placed to signify what lay there. He waited as his men gathered themselves together once more and the call was given to march. When he joined what remained of the small band of soldiers, he never looked back.

For the man left behind had taught him that looking back was a sign of regretting the past. Despite all that had happened, the colony-cum-nation could not bring himself to regret a moment of it.

* * *

England remained on his hands and knees in the mud, a part of his conscious registering the noises before him as the newly-freed colony and his people leaving the impromptu battlefield-turned-graveyard, filthy and exhausted but ecstatic. Waiting, waiting, for hours he knelt in the mud, as the sun began to make its final round for the day and the evening's chill began to set in, until at last the sound of marching feet faded from his ears. Only then did the minute shaking of his shoulders become jerking tremors.

Finally, the Empire threw his head back and laughed.

It was a grating sound, low and mocking and entirely crazy, ending as abruptly as it began. Staggering to his feet, the Empire froze, head bowed low and eyes scrunched shut. He stayed as such for a moment before tossing his head back once more, eyes snapping open to stare in the direction of his retreating colony. And though he knew the other was far out of hearing range he still spoke, voice soft and taunting.

"Oh dear little one; such a brave, brave fool. You think I cannot destroy you? My dear child, you do not understand the workings of the Old World- when an Empire exists in its entirety, its Nation host must slumber. Had I wished it, you would be long forgotten by now and your precious England would never even know."

Cocky insanity was shining through his smirk; an insanity which even his monarchy had come to be wary of. The Empire took a moment to straighten out his uniform as much as the situation would allow before continuing, clearly enjoying his lonesome soliloquy.

"Oh, but what fun would be had in simply destroying you? Europe bores me so, and my other colonies are all so terribly dull or overly unruly. It proves so much more entertaining to watch you destroy yourself from the outside in. How long before your people corrupt those pretty childish dreams with selfishness and greed? Oh, doesn't that sound delightful!"

Clapping his hands with child-like merriment, the Empire whirled around and took up a quick march eastward to where he knew roughly a town was standing; he could feel a small group of his men traversing a similar path a day or so ahead of him, and was determined to meet up with them. Yet, as he neared the battlefield's edge he paused, hands resting lightly on his hips as a thought occurred to him.

"Perhaps... Yes, I shall punish you just a tad; consider it a lesson learnt all round, lad. What to do, though."

The Empire stood there for a moment, a solitary figure lost in thought, pouting as idea after boring idea sailed through his mind. It was well in to the dark of night before at last a childish smile overtook the pout; as if it had a mind of its own, one hand began to stray slowly upwards to his face.

"Well now, that does sound like a marvelous idea. Did I ever tell you lad, that only Empires can cast permanent magic on Nations? Oh yes. Nations cannot eternally curse Nations, nor Empires, only those non-Nation entities. Colonies, territories and so on. That hardly matters now; most of us have already forsaken our magic. However."

Blunt nails dug callously into the skin surrounding green eyes, pushing down until blood welled and began to dribble from beneath them. Slender fingers dragged themselves through the trickling liquid, using it to paint overlapping symbols and words across the upper half of the Empire's face before moving to hover in front of his eyes. The Empire observed his blood-coated fingertips for a moment before pushing them deep into his eyes, twisting them about until he could touch the bone to either side of his sockets, and proceeded to rip both eyeballs out.

Though blood welled up in his sockets, none spilled over. Instead, the bloody markings on his face traveled upwards and inwards to join the blood pooling like tears before his reforming eyes. The Empire blinked, though his eyes were hardly formed, and the blood laying at the edge of his sockets finally poured out, trailing like tears down his cheeks. He smiled.

"This really is to punish you both, my darling boy. You chose to disobey me; he chose to interfere in my running of _**my** _Empire. I shan't inform you of what my delightful surprise is, though it pains me that I shall miss out on witnessing your reactions to it. I wonder how long my host will take in figuring out my little trick. Still, I do hope you will both be grateful that it is only effective under certain circumstances. Truly, your crimes are deserving of much severer punishments."

Time had passed quickly as the markings of the curse worked their way into the reforming eyes; it was early in the witching hours when they were fully formed once more. Emotions had fled the wholly-formed eyes; a chilling smile was set upon the Empire's lips, and with a sense of finality he stepped off the battlefield. In his mind settled a certainty that someday, when it was least expected, the young Nation of this New World land would understand the consequences to ones actions were not always carried by that person.

"After all, poppet, **_no-one_** betrays the British Empire."

* * *

_**~Cal**_

Original drabble – February 2011

Edited version – July 2012


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